


Is this the place you like to hide at?

by paladinquen (postmodern_robot)



Series: NedCan Oneshot Project [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, brief mention of New Zealand, brief mention of female Norway, brief mentions of Luxembourg, but there is NO PEDOPHILIA!, if you have an age squick this may not be your thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmodern_robot/pseuds/paladinquen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they met (which they forgot) and the time they met again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is this the place you like to hide at?

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble for my [NedCan drabble project](http://nedcanquen.tumblr.com), but ended up being 13 pages long - long enough to be posted as a fic on AO3 :P.

 

_The time that they both forgot about_

Daan knew that he probably shouldn’t be using little kids as couriers. It’s not like what he was doing was exactly illegal, per se, but it was just safer for everyone involved if he wasn’t the one directly delivering his goods. 

What kind of goods? 

Well, what did you want? That brand new iPhone model before its official release? (Show it off to your friends) Daan was your guy. Want to impress the most spoilt and popular girl in school, with the most premium Ecuadorian roses in the height of bloom? Daan could get that for you too. He never questioned the order (no matter how stupid), only made sure that the money was paid up front and real. Like some wizard, he could get it all, anything and everything you could ask for. 

The first time he got into the ‘supplier’ business was back in the Netherlands at the tender age of twelve. His father had died in an accident, far away, and even after the realization had sunk in and the emptiness more bearable than before, he needed something to challenge himself and take his mind away. He remembered one of his father’s work conversations once, as a younger boy playing in his office - “There is always something people need that they just don’t realize they need yet,” or “There’s always a way that we can make what we sell better.” Words to live by, especially when you were trying your damnedest to be strong for your absolutely strong mother (so she wasn’t doing it alone), and when you had a little sister who was just ten years old and a brother who was young enough that he would never remember his father. So Daan never cried and found different ways to occupy himself. He started keeping his mouth shut more and listening better to the vices and wants of others. 

It was practically harmless play, with he and Belle delivering the goods, until some deranged soul asked him to supply something that could get someone killed. Thankfully by the time that happened and was reported, his new stepfather’s job took them to Canada. Daan’s hands were still shaking on the plane as he wondered how he could...improve what he was doing so that he could minimize the danger to himself and his family, and avoid such characters. Canada was a new start, though maybe less so for him as he was already sixteen, than his younger sister and toddler brother. He would go back home for university in a little more than a year anyway. Long enough however, to make sure that his parents didn’t need to pay a cent for his education - thank goodness for cheap Dutch tuition, he would have had a harder time if he had to study in Canada or worse, the US. But first, a new network and a new start. 

The first mistake he corrected was to make sure he didn’t use his own name - that had been the height of stupidity but what did you expect from a twelve-year-old entrepreneur? Now if you wanted something, you contacted the ‘Farmer’. The details he had worked out in the first two months, figuring out the lay of the land. That was when he realized that jut catering to ‘want’ was a short-term plan. For actual long-term profit, this community of expats was a prime market for ‘nostalgia’. 

What did expats have in common? They weren’t at home...and there was always something you missed from home, no matter how well-adjusted you were. The spice that was suddenly ridiculously expensive, the flower you had once taken for granted, the TV channel you could no longer watch, or the comfort of speaking in your native tongue for more than isolated periods of time. For nostalgia, people would pay, reveal their patterns and act predictably, making business easier for him. Most importantly, nostalgia was legal, the items were usually not banned, just difficult to procure for the average busy person. 

He then recruited the first of his couriers - an Australian kid, Jett Kirkland. A ten-year-old with too much energy and easily bored, but systematic and precise. Most importantly, Jett was loyal with a steady payment of Caramello Koalas and Australian Macadamias (why the fuck was every food product out of Australia so expensive?!). Next up was an American kid, also ten; Jett’s cousin Alfred Jones, who was home-schooled, precocious and eager-to-please, loyal for a myriad of different items - roses for his mother, the latest video games or superhero toys, a signed Yankees baseball bat and a magnificent stuffed polar bear from Japan for his brother...among other things. Daan stopped at two. In order to have couriers who were smart enough to be discreet and play the innocent, he understood that they would be a little more expensive, but their services more than made up for their payments, and also made Daan a rich teenager less than halfway through the year. 

It was Alfred who told him about the perfect place to stash the goods, hidden in the private woodlands owned by his mother’s family. All-in-all, Ottawa was great - the international school he was enrolled him guaranteed him a market that was constantly in flux - families from all over the world moving in and out every few years meant it was easier for him to stay hidden. Loyal customers moving to new countries meant new networks in the supply chain. The vastness of Canada (really, he couldn’t get over how big everything was in Canada) meant he had plenty of places to hide, such as this charming tree-house built on a sturdy short tree where Alfred and Jett used to play. Daan had asked them who built the tree-house, impressed by its solid build quality and ability to take his own weight, as well as its sensible height - kids could fall and avoid serious injury. However, he received only sullen silence as a response. Eventually, Alfred would make some odd noise or another and they went back to business. Whatever, the key point was, no one was using it now, and thanks to Alfred, he knew how to get in and out of the property without being seen. 

After a while though, he could never shake that nagging feeling that he was being watched. 

He never saw anyone though. “It could be a ghost.” Zahra joked when he told her about it. His Indonesian girlfriend was his key supplier for goods out of Southeast Asia, at better prices than the Asian markets set up in small corners of the city. 

Daan smiled fondly at her. “Wouldn’t that make you happy, I swear you like your ghosts more than you endure me.” 

“There is a difference between ghosts and spirits.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Just because you’re too scared to watch my movies, doesn’t mean you get to make fun of them.”

To be fair, he had enough of watching these Southeast Asian vampire women with lank, long hair hanging over their faces to last a lifetime by now (did they all have to love torturing and eating men as much as they did?). Unfortunately, those Indonesian horror films were starting to get to his head. He left her house after they finished watching the latest one and bid her and her many siblings goodbye, to check on the goods in the tree house. 

Daan didn’t used to be intimidated at the thought of walking through the woods at night. It was pretty tame, all things considered, and it wasn’t winter. He was more careful during the change of seasons and kept the goods elsewhere, but otherwise he enjoyed the opportunity to have a lone walk, especially after having to socialize in such a large group. It was a Sunday and early in the night. The sky was an interesting shade of blue - still light enough to see, but not clearly with darkness coming soon. He had already made sure he had the flashlight, compass, water and emergency supplies in his pack just in case he did something stupid, like get lost, because one could never be too careful, but mostly because he needed some silence too and wanted to stay a while. The woodlands had become his own sanctuary of sorts, where he counted his money and reveled in the quiet, surrounded by his products. 

That nagging sense of being watched was back though, and Daan shivered, even though it wasn’t cold. Odd images of bloodthirsty female vampires hiding in the trees came to him, and he looked up, then hit himself for being stupid. There were no vampires stalking him. Period. Shaking his head and cursing himself for a scared fool in Dutch, he didn’t pay too much attention as he started climbing into the tree house. A cold, pale hand grabbed his. 

“AAAAAUGH!” Daan screamed, and fell backwards to the ground, scrambling backwards in the dirt in a blind panic. ‘Shit shit shit vampires exist?! How the fuck was Zahra right about a fucking ghost in the woods?! Why didn’t he listen? He was never laughing at her again, oh fuck, I’m too fucking young to die.’ He grabbed the closest wooden stick near him and scrambled up, ready to defend himself. 

“SHHHH! I can’t understand you, stop being so loud!” A child’s voice hissed at him from the tree-house. 

Wait, what? Daan took a shaking breath and looked at the figure who just jumped down in front of him. Alfred? No, that wasn’t right… Taking deep gulping breaths, Daan finally had the sense to reach to his flashlight and turn it on. The kid shielded his eyes, but not before Daan caught a glimpse of chubby cheeks, large eyes that cast an odd purple shade in this fading blue light and messy curls fanning the face. The resemblance was clear to see, but now that he was actually looking, Daan found it impossible to mistake this kid for Alfred. He had never caught the name, but he knew who he was looking at. 

“Are you Alfred’s brother?” He asked gruffly, dropping the stick and trying to make up for looking like a damn fool earlier, babbling in Dutch at a ghost that wasn’t there. 

The kid just nodded, somewhat sullenly, putting his arms down. That was when Daan noticed the wet eyes and tear tracks running down those cheeks. 

“I’m sorry I scared you.” The kid whispered, barely audible. “But they can’t find me.” 

“Who?” Daan asked, trying to sound a little gentler than before. It was useless to try to deny the former, and this kid was even younger than Alfred, maybe by a year? 

“Not that they’d find me anyway.” Came the sullen response, and with that, the kid climbed back up into the tree-house with a familiarity bordering on wild. It wasn’t difficult to figure out some of the story after that. If this kid was Alfred’s brother, he had grown up playing in the tree house as well, and he clearly knew it well, so why hadn’t Daan ever seen him before? Realizing this rather obvious breach in security, Daan sighed. He’d have to figure out this kid’s price for silence. Alfred got him a polar bear, well Daan didn’t have any of those in stock at the moment, but he did have some good chocolates. That may do in a pinch to convince the kid to stay quiet until he could get him what he really wanted. 

Climbing up, he popped his head in. “Is this the place you like to hide at then?”

The kid sat in the corner next to the fresh tulips in their pots, absently stroking the petals with one hand and holding the polar bear in the other. “It was.” He bit out, quiet but filled with irritation. 

Give him strength. “Mind if I join you for a moment? It would look kind of suspicious if my legs keep hanging out like this.” The kid just looked at him and shrugged. “Please come in.” 

Charming. Daan crawled in the rest of the way, and sat down. He couldn’t fit in here without sitting, and even then his head touched the ceiling. It was a good thing he was going back home before long, he wouldn’t be able to fit in this tree house any longer if he kept getting taller - which he was. 

“This is your tree house isn’t it? I didn’t know.” 

He noticed a hard set to the kid’s jaw - wrong somehow, in a face that small. “Well according to Alfred, it’s his. Everything is his. Dad built this tree house for both of us, so that we could _share_. Alfred’s never known how to share, so he gave this house away to you, so he could take it away from _me_.”

There was something really unsettling about the amount of hurt and anger in that tone of voice. The kid seemed comfortable in the fading light, so Daan couldn’t get a good look at him. It worked the other way too, in this light, the kid wouldn’t be able to place him on a normal day. “You know, I asked Alfred before, who built this house. He wouldn’t tell me. He looked too sad to, so I didn’t ask again.” 

The kid looked away. Thankfully Belle had also been a stubborn kid, and it looked like Christian would be as well, otherwise Daan would have left the kid in the tree. “Alright kid, let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Daan. What’s your name?” 

“Mattie.” The kid shook his hand. 

“Hi Mattie. Could you tell me about your tree house? I’m sorry I’ve kind of moved in, I didn’t know it was yours.” He thought about it. “If I had known, I’d have asked Alfred to have you join us.” With the way Alfred spoke about his brother, Daan had been convinced that the kid was a toddler. 

Mattie was still fixated on the tulips. “Are these tulips? Did you get them from the Tulip Festival building?” 

What was it with these brothers and avoiding the key questions?! Daan steeled his patience and answered. “You like them? Some of them did come from there.” Thank goodness his family moved to the city with the largest tulip festival in the world. He still loved these flowers, and on the rare day that he felt homesick, it was easy to get them. They were the inspiration behind his business model around here. 

“Mama tells me that I can thank Grandpa for the tulips. They come every year to say ‘thank you’ to him and his friends. Though, they’re in heaven now, just like Dad.” 

Ah fuck. Memories of younger times, somberly placing little Canadian flags in front of gravestones with his grandmother, learning how to sing the Canadian anthem to a group of old veterans before he had even started learning English in school, and hearing his mother try to tell him that his father wouldn’t be coming home; they all came back to him at the same time. Thinking about what had been saved, and realizing that he was so far from it, Daan sure as hell felt homesick now, and too fucking emotional. 

“Maybe your Dad has met mine.” Daan offered in a last ditch attempt to regain his control over himself. He wasn’t sure if it worked, not with the way his voice broke at the end of that sentence, but he held it together. Something in his voice must have obviously been off because all the anger in the kid disappeared and he walked over and put a small hand on his shoulder. 

“Do you need to cry Mr. Daan?” He asked in that too soft, kind whisper. And damn if that just broke the dam. 

“No.” Daan almost spat out through clenched teeth, but it was too late, he felt a hot tear stream down his cheek. “No I...ah fu-ahem.” He drew up his knees and held them tight, fighting the sobs, but he couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking, or the fact that he needed to breathe. No. No. No. No. He had never cried over this so why now? And in front of a kid no less! ‘Okay Daan, pull yourself together.’ He wiped his tears off with his shirt and looked up. Oh for God’s sake, the kid was hugging him around his waist. All he could see when he looked down were messy soft curls. He took a deep breath and calmed himself, did math equations in his head, complex and simple, thought about cartography and surveying and painting, his other hobbies.

“I’m okay kid.” He patted Mattie’s hair awkwardly. “The question is, why are you hiding out here?” 

The kid released him and shifted to sit next to him in the darkness, somehow seeing an older boy cry seemed to indicate that he was trustworthy...Daan would have to speak to this kid about that, or tell Alfred to teach his brother.

“I’m going to live here!” Mattie said happily. “I love the woods, better than my house. When Dad was here, we’d even camp out here. Then he died and Mama got busier and it was different with just Alfred and I. Then Alfred invited you, and Jamie, and it wasn’t just ours any more. I’d hide and look at you guys all the time, it doesn’t even look like playing, you just grab stuff and take it out or bring it in.” 

Jamie? Daan looked down curiously at the shadow of pale skin and hair. The kid was some kind of chameleon, but at least he wasn’t a ghost. 

“Why didn’t you join us?” Sullen silence. Somehow though, Daan understood. 

“Hmm...well I like having my own space too. People have their moments, but I always need time alone after that, which is why I come here.” He thought about how he had initially treated this kid as an intruder into his own space. It turned out that the opposite was true. “I don’t like it either when I think I have a space and someone else takes it. I really don’t think I’d like it if my space was just given to someone else.” 

The boy stirred, while Daan reached over to the potted tulips and pulled out a white one. “It looked to me earlier like you liked tulips. That true?” 

Mattie nodded. “They remind me of Grandpa, and Dad...Dad was in the Army too.” 

That threat of tears welled up in him again but he controlled it. “Did you know that tulips have different meanings depending on what color they are?” He held out the white one as an offering. “White means ‘apology’. I’m sorry I took over your house. Would you like me to move out?” He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyway, with just a few months left in the school year. He could move this stuff to his house and just tell his mother what he had been up to. It wasn’t illegal, but she would be upset just because of what had happened back home.

Mattie looked a little lost as he took the offering. “No, you don’t need to move out. It was just never Alfred’s to give away.” Tears of frustration started welling up in his eyes as he squeezed his polar bear harder. 

“Hey.” Daan responded a little gruffly, still controlling his own emotions. “You know how your brother met me? He wanted help to get that polar bear from you. Said that your family took a trip to Japan two years ago. You saw it in a random store in Hokkaido and fell in love with it, but you lost it in the airport. He wanted to get you the exact same type, so you’d be happy again.” 

“You’re lying!” 

Seriously? “No!” Daan objected. “Why would I lie? Kid, I know you don’t know me that well but I don’t exactly have a reason to lie to you.” 

Eight years old or not, the kid seemed capable of listening to reason, so he went silent and just looked at his stuffed polar bear, thinking. For whatever reason, Daan waited the kid out. “Thanks.” Mattie eventually whispered. 

Daan shrugged. “Thank your brother, he paid for it.” That was the wrong thing to say, because Mattie looked up straight at him, even though he was even harder to see now in the rapidly ascending darkness. 

“How?” How indeed. 

“He delivers stuff for me. All this stuff you see?” He waved his hand in the darkness. “They’re memories.” He heard the boy fidget in the darkness. 

“Memories? But...this is just a tulip.” 

Daan smiled, “Didn’t you just tell me that tulips remind you of your Op-I mean, grandfather, and Dad?” When more silence filled the air, Daan continued. “It is a tulip, but it’s also a memory. Your polar bear is a memory, your brother wanted that memory returned to you. Over here,” He reached into one of his newly-arrived containers and pulled out a bag of what looked like jerky, but wasn’t. “This is biltong, a snack that our South African neighbors love, but it’s hard to get here, and it would take hours to make on your own. When my clients eat biltong, they’re not just eating biltong, they’re remembering their home.” 

Mattie looked at the bag confused. “But it’s just a bag of jerky.” 

Daan chuckled, trying to think of something uniquely Canadian that this kid could relate to. “Not really. Hmm...how would you feel like if you moved to a place without maple syrup?” 

Mattie gasped. “I did! Once! In New York! They called it maple syrup but it wasn’t maple syrup, it was awful!” 

“And if you had to live in New York for the next twenty years, wouldn’t you like it if someone like me could get you your favorite maple syrup? Made just the way you like it? And wouldn’t it make you think of these woods and this tree house? And maybe you’d then think of other things that makes home...home.”

The poor kid looked stricken. “I don’t want to live in New York for twenty years! That’s where they want to take me and I don’t want to go! I want to stay here in Ottawa! But you know, Mama would be happier in New York with just Alfred. Alfred would be so happy, and he’d fill everyday with joy, and she wouldn’t have to worry about me being quiet, and I wouldn’t be in the way.” 

“Don’t say that.” Daan frowned. “I mean...has your Mama ever said you were in the way?” 

“Of course not, but she’s worried when she looks at me, and she’s relieved when she looks at Alfred because he’s loud and says he’s happy and does stuff. I’m just a bother.” 

Kids, Daan wanted to shake his head. Perceptive at the most inconvenient of times. “Mattie, I don’t know your Mama. But I do know mine, and after my father...never came back, she worried a lot of about me, and my sister and baby brother. She just showed it in different ways to each of us because we were different people. I came up with this business actually, as my way of coping and my sister used to help me. We did things together. That helped.” 

“Alfred asked me if I wanted to play too, I said no. I said you sounded weird and Jamie is crazy.” 

Daan didn’t know why he smiled so widely at that. “And that’s your choice. If I may, I think you and Alfred handle things differently, which doesn’t mean that anyone is wrong or bad, just different. Like how...” He pulled out a second tulip, also white. “No two flowers are exactly the same, even if they’re related and they’re the same color.” He held out the second one and Mattie took it, silent again. “I also think that your family would miss you fiercely, and you them. I know I haven’t even left for university yet, and I already miss mine, in anticipation.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Mattie objected. 

Daan shrugged. “Well then, how about I prove it. Why don’t you come with me to go back to your house and rejoin your family? I bet they’re worried about you.” 

“They won’t even have noticed I’m gone.” Mattie countered confidently. 

Daan raised an eyebrow...so maybe what he was about to do next wasn’t all that right, taking candy from a baby and all, but... “I said I’ll bet. How much are you willing to bet on that?” 

Mattie gulped nervously, but finally nodded with determination. “I bet a thousand tulips.”

What?! He had expected a toy or something, not this. He could sense the smugness in the air though, this was one cunning kid, to figure out his own fondness so quickly. “Fine.” Daan breathed out, hoping to high heaven that his hunch was right. Alfred and Mattie acted like boys who were confused and had gone through a trauma in their lives, but not like they were unloved. “And if I’m right, you’ll keep everything that you’ve seen since I’ve moved into this tree house a secret. I was never here, and you didn’t see where the memories come from. They do better in the market when people think there’s a kind of magic to them.” Odd how sappy that sounded, but it was true. 

But the kid didn’t look convinced. “So where did I get these tulips from?” He asked dryly. 

Daan couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped from his mouth. “You found them in the woods of course. Now come on.” It was fairly simple after that, Daan had his flashlight after all and Mattie knew the woods like an extension of himself. 

Right before they crossed to the main path though, Mattie pulled on Daan’s hand. 

“What is it kid?” 

“Just something...um...when Dad went to heaven, Mama told us that it was okay to cry, and we’re not weak or anything for it. She didn’t want us to think that just because we’re boys, that if we cried, we weren’t as strong as Dad ever was. Dad cried too. So if you need to cry, you’re still cool.” 

Daan looked down at Mattie’s rather earnest little face and felt something in him finally give in. He nodded. “Come on.” 

It played out as expected, Mattie’s mother had been looking for him and was relieved. Alfred had been in tears and apologized for...a lot of things right after Mattie was brought back. Right when Mattie’s mother started asking herself why didn’t she think of the tree house was when Daan decided to bid them goodnight and make his escape...to go home and finally cry. In the early lit hours of Monday morning he cleared the tree-house, finally feeling too guilty for trespassing (even with Alfred’s permission but come on, Alfred was a kid) and causing so much trouble for the Jones family. He never really saw Alfred’s little brother after that as the Jones’ were busy packing up for New York. He had a quick goodbye with Alfred, and Jett’s best friend from New Zealand, Jack, took his place. 

After Daan graduated, he moved back to the Netherlands, and his short stay in Ottawa eventually became another foggy memory in the pages of his life.

 

* * *

 

 

_When they thought they first met  
_

_Seventeen years later...  
_

 

“Twenty new stores in twenty-four months? They’re ambitious. You have to respect that.” Daan sipped his coffee as he read the business news. 

Mathias, the best friend he made on an exchange in Denmark in his university days was lounging on his couch on one of his many visits. “That’s today’s major business news? What are they anyway?” 

“The Hudson Bay Company.” Daan answered simply, bringing his friend his cup of tea over. “Giant Canadian department store, oldest company in North America, made their name with the beaver-fur trade. They’re expanding out into Europe in a big way - hey, get your legs off the coffee table - I’ve never quite understood how it’s taken them this long to realize that yes, there is a market for Canadian culture and goods here. A big one.” He shook his head. “Canadians. We give them 20,000 tulips every year and they’re always surprised that we know the difference between them and the US.” 

Mathias shrugged. “You’re the one who lived there man. They must have made a good impression on you. For me, they’re the guys who stole our rock but think they can buy it with some nice bottles of Canadian whisky. Not that it’s a big deal, it’s just weird. So are you guys bankrolling them?” 

Daan shook his head and rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but smile. “How many times do I have to tell you? I work for a farmer’s bank. Rabobank. Giant North American department stores aren’t usually on my list of targeted clientele.”

“You lack imagination.” Mathias laughed. 

“Me? You’re the one who gets paid to have an imagination. Isn’t that why you’re bumming around my place? So you can write your next book? How many words did you get in today?” 

Mathias let out an exaggerated groan and Daan rolled his eyes. “You’re turning into a nag.” Mathias complained.

“I’m turning into the guy who’s going to raise the rent on your room to market price. You’re lucky you’re my best friend, or I’d have started charging that from the beginning.” Because Mathias had lived with him now for three months, he was practically a housemate. 

“Let’s go to a bar tonight, I mean really go to a bar, not just eat and have one drink, it’s Friday.”

“No.” 

“Come on! We’ve both become stodgy old men, when was the last time we did anything cool like...bungee jumping or skydiving, or walking from Copenhagen to Amsterdam just because we could? I think that’s why I haven’t been able to write lately!” Mathias complained. 

“I go to bars, I just don’t go with you because you’re supposed to be writing. Look man, you’ve tried everything - locking yourself into the room, cycling around the countryside, climbing a windmill, a hell of a lot of weed and brownies. I think you’re just going to have to sit your ass down and force yourself to just write until your over it.” 

Mathias rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you know that it’s like to be a writer, but fine, my current pattern isn’t working all that well, I need to switch it up. Less crazy, a little more mundane perhaps - talk to new people, laugh at how easily you manage to get laid, I dunno.” 

Daan scoffed. “It’s been a while. It’s not like you’re a monk.” His return to the Netherlands and all through his twenties had been so full of sex and near misses with what he thought was love that he was about tired of it. But he did occasionally indulge. He knew for a fact that Mathias’ pattern wasn’t all that different, except that he had put everything aside for his book this past year. Speaking of, Mathias was simply sulking.

“Fine, let’s go to Femke’s place, it’s quieter than the rest of them on a Friday night.” There was another reason he wanted to go to Femke’s bar. He stopped by there occasionally to pack dinner, since Femke’s kitchen served hearty meals in addition to quality alcohol. But the bar also offered something few other bars offered (and stayed afloat) - peace and quiet. No loud music or obnoxious yuppies at Femke’s, there, the favored music came from the Dutch College Swing Band. There were also more seat booths built against the wall, sectioned off with wooden partitions to offer patrons solitude and quiet should they want it. In the last month, there was often a guy sitting in the same booth, reading a book and nursing a glass of some favored drink. He always stood out because he was younger than the crowd that generally preferred the place, and always so happy to be on his own. 

Alright, who was he kidding? The guy was hot. End of story. What really got him was the smile - nothing so obvious and overt, but soft, subtle and kind, as if always thinking of something amusing. Then of course there was the body that came with that smile. He had the build of an athlete to him, with wavy hair usually tied into a ponytail behind. He was possibly even a speed skater with the strength in those thighs. Daan hadn’t seen that ass yet but he wouldn’t be surprised if it also promised a good view. He was compelling enough that Daan was willing to invest some time into getting a conversation out of him, find out his story, his memories, where he came from (some habits die hard, his young days of ‘honest smuggling’ embarrassed him so much he tried not to think back to them).

“Who is it?” Mathias grinned. “You got that look. I’ll be your wingman!” 

Daan only smirked into his coffee. 

As luck had it, they walked into the bar and there he was, Daan’s new regular. Upon seeing him, Femke, a formidable woman, pulled out the regular order - a bottle of Heineken for him, and a bottle of Carlsberg for Mathias. 

“Actually Femke, I’ll have what he’s having.” He indicated the guy at the booth. She just gave him a look and Daan shrugged. He wasn’t trying to hide anything or fool anyone. 

“He’s a sweet boy.” She commented tersely. “All the way from Canada.” 

“Then I’m sure he’d appreciate some new friends.” Daan shrugged. Speaking of friends, where was... Mathias was still stuck at the entrance, except he had the stupidest look on his face. Daan followed his line of sight to see...now if someone had asked him to paint a picture of his best friend’s type, he’d probably have painted someone who looked a lot like this woman. Just looking at her made him think of the icy winds in the far north, of viking boats in foggy seas and the strange chanting music that Mathias sometimes listened to when he hit his writing stride. Daan shook his head. So much for the wingman. 

Femke looked completely amused. Somehow she liked Mathias more than she liked him...at least that’s how he felt. 

“Love.” He shrugged. 

“She’s a quiet one, just like the one at the bench. Good luck to him.” She shrugged as she placed Daan’s order in front of him. 

He gave it a sniff - whiskey. Wait, a vague memory came back to him. Canadian whisky, without the ‘e’. “Forty Creek.” She looked somewhat impressed at that. “Could you let him know I’d like to pay for his drink?” He had never seen Femke so shocked and had to keep himself from laughing. 

“Go tell him yourself.” But she gave him the bill up front. 

With business settled, he walked over to the booth, “Hi, couldn’t help but notice that you’re new here.” He held out his hand. “I’m Daan.” Was it a bit too much of a giveaway that he was speaking in English? Probably, but Daan wasn’t known for being subtle when it came to these things. 

A beautiful pair of dark eyes looked up at him, so blue they appeared violet in the dim light of the bar. The man was pretty surprised but composed himself quickly, rising to shake his hand. “Matthew. Nice to meet you. Um...please have a seat?” The rest was delivered in fairly decent Dutch for a guy who had only turned up here for about a month, and good eye contact, intriguing. 

“Is this the place you like to hide at then? I’ve seen you here a few times.” 

If anyone had told Daan that he’d fall in love over a four-hour conversation at a bar upon a first meeting before that point, he’d have asked you if wanted to buy something fairly impossible - a bridge, a fountain of eternal youth? But as with most unexpected things, it came to pass. Matthew was indeed, new to Amsterdam, having moved as part of the Hudson Bay Company’s rollout team, but he had moved three months ago and only found a ‘hideout’ at this bar after that.

“Is Daan a popular name? You’re the third Daan I’ve met here. I think there was also a random Dutch guy who lived in my neighborhood when I was a kid, his name was also Daan.” Matthew asked, a little tipsy. 

“It’s common, but I didn’t think it was that common.” Daan responded, a little displeased. 

Later, “So Matthew, your Dutch is quite impressive for a man who has only been here three months. How did you do it?” 

The answer half rankled and half impressed - Matthew knew German before he learned Dutch, and the languages were similar. The difficulty was keeping them apart in his head. 

“Why German before Dutch?” Daan asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Matthew blushed and Daan was pretty sure it wasn’t just the alcohol. “Ex-boyfriend. Um...a long time ago.” 

Well then. Daan smiled into a gulp of whisky burning down his throat. “It’s okay,” He laughed. “Tell me about where you come from.” What could he say? Some habits died hard. It had become a habit of his to look for the source of people’s nostalgia, and just having one - the drink he shared with Matthew in his hand - was not enough to satisfy him tonight. Matthew’s version of Ottawa actually brought some memories back to Daan, as brief as his time there was, but it did make Daan realize a forgotten part of himself, missing that temporary home in his own way. 

“I used to walk through a forest there. It was very peaceful.” He offered. 

Matthew’s eyes lit up and Daan had to clench the fist he had at his side. “I’m glad you got to experience that. My family was pretty lucky to have a private reserve...some families there do, it’s kind of inherited or you can buy it as long as you follow the guidelines...” and on and on the conversation went until it was pretty obvious to both of them that they weren’t leaving the bar without each other. 

Of course, if anyone had told Daan that meeting the love of his life would take place in such a cliche manner, he probably would have ignored you. But he didn’t care about all that when he leaned over and in silken deep tones, asked Matthew to help him get home. “My friend abandoned me.” Daan said in a perfectly clear voice, and it wasn’t exactly a lie, Mathias had disappeared a long time ago with the woman who had so captured him. “And I’ve had a little too much to drink.” One glass of whisky. Daan never knew why people had to waste time with these games, but he supposed they could be fun as well. 

When Matthew looked at him with dilated eyes and unconsciously bit his bottom lip (and what a delicious looking lip), Daan knew he had won. 

(He didn’t know how hard he had won until he unlocked his door and Matthew pinned him against the wall as soon as it was shut.) 

 

* * *

 

_When they realized_

“So Al is Al, your brother, who has just finished a tour in Afghanistan, and your Australian cousin’s name is James.” 

“Yes.” Matthew confirmed for him, probably for the third time. They had been together now for about eight months, much to his surprise and delight. Matthew’s family was pretty spread out in the world, in the most remote places too. Matthew’s older brother was an American from New York, who was in the Army, because that apparently, was what the Williams family did. James was Australian, who spent most his time in the outback as a conservationist. His mother was back in Ottawa and he had Skyped with her together with Matthew twice. She seemed familiar, but Daan didn’t know if he was just projecting memories or if Ottawa ladies really did have certain characteristics in common. One day he’d have to go back there and find out. 

He looked at Matthew, who was eagerly waiting for his brother and cousin to walk through the gate. They were standing in the arrival area of Schipol airport, and Matthew was thrumming with energy. “Remind me why they’re visiting at the same time?” Daan asked, to pass the time more than anything else. 

“They’re not. Al’s visiting, Jamie’s just here for a sustainability conference. He’s pretty hyped for it.” Daan put his arm around Matthew’s shoulders and held him close. 

“I’m glad it worked out that way.” He kissed his boyfriend’s head. “You miss them. Well, Al I know you’ve missed. James you didn’t mention so much.”

“Well I was pretty young still when my Aunt lived in Ottawa. He’s been in Australia since then, it’s kind of...the other side of the world.” He laughed. 

Finally after what felt like forever, two men walked through the sliding doors. Both wore huge grins as they waved, one looked a lot like his boyfriend, while the other... Daan couldn’t help but feel something was odd about all this. Odd as in familiar. 

Matthew detached himself and went running up to them, as the three gave each other bear hugs, Daan caught a glimpse of a familiar laugh on James’ face, and the searching stare from Matthew’s brother. 

It hit them all at about the same time, the mad realization of how small this world was. And Daan knew that he and Mattie (oh God, he was an idiot) were never going to be allowed to forget this. Finally, after a full day of teasing and catching up and outright incredulous coincidences, Daan found himself sitting on his bed, next to a rather awkward lover. He knew something had to be coming because Matthew was mostly quiet all day. 

“So...you met me when I was eight and tried to run away from home.” Matthew stated matter-of-factly. 

Daan shook his head. “ _Liefje_ , you have no idea how embarrassed I am about my teenage smuggling days, I try not to remember it. If it’s any consolation, I never involved your brother and cousin in anything illegal.” 

Matthew laughed. “I don’t really remember any of that. To me it looked like my brother was leaving me to play with Jaime and some older cool kid, and whatever games you guys were playing must have been really really cool because I couldn’t get it at all. I also thought you actually lived in my tree house because of all the stuff that was in it. Then one day, the tree house angel talks me into going back home and the next day I go back, poof! Everything is gone, like I imagined it. But I made a promise to the tree-house angel so I couldn’t say a word.”

That was...really sweet actually. Daan struggled to recall the memory of the boy he had led home. It had been so dark, and he had been so affected by that damned horror movie, he wasn’t really at his best.

“How...” Matthew looked at him quizzically. “Gosh you must have been seventeen.” Then he looked mortified. “You must think I’m such a kid!” 

Okay, enough. “Matthew, honestly, so much happened at that time in my life that Ottawa is a fleeting memory. And it was pretty dark when we talked, I never got a good look at you. Enough to know you had to be Alfred’s brother but...it’s just kind of crazy now. Why do you and Alfred have different surnames? Why did James tell me that his name was Jett? And...okay I won’t lie. Let’s not think too hard about ... that. As far as I’m concerned, we both knew I was a lot older than you when we started dating. As for before...obviously when we first met, I didn’t look at you the way I look at you now. The only thing I was concerned with was listening to you and then getting you back to your family. Completely different. Who we are now is who we are now, and then was then.” He pulled Matthew closer. “Though I think it’s funny you thought I was some kind of angel, because I was just some dumb kid running a smuggler’s den. God I was so lame.” He laughed. 

“I didn’t think it was lame. You gave people happiness, their memories.” Matthew smiled. 

“Well, you gave me something too, you were an angel of a sort for me.” Daan countered. 

Matthew frowned. “Whiny kid trying to steal your tulips?” 

Daan caressed a cheek. “I never cried for my Dad before I met you. Thought I was being strong. After I got home, I finally let it out. Didn’t realize how much I needed it. You were one wise little eight-year-old. I guess that hasn’t changed, you’re still the wiser one. I may not have actively thought back to Ottawa after I left in terms of how I lived there, because it was embarrassing, but it clearly had a strong impact on my life.” He leaned in for a kiss. “And I’m not complaining about the world leading me back to you. Now all we need to do is endure Alfred and Jamie’s teasing for the next week.” 

Matthew laughed. “It won’t just be a week you know.” 

Daan smiled. “No, just the rest of our lives.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:
> 
> 1\. Caramello Koalas - Chocolate koala candy from Cadbury's Australia  
> 2\. Southeast Asian vampire ladies - Malay folklore has a lot of female vampires and they're immortalized today by copious amounts of popular horror movies in the region. Some types include pontianak/kuntilanak and lang suir (Daan doesn't know the difference at this point, it's all the same to him). In European folklore, drinking the blood of a vampire will turn you. In Malay folklore, dying during pregnancy or childbirth may turn you (the different stages determine which vampire you turn into).  
> 3\. Whiskey and Whisky - another example of a subtle difference between Canada and the US, but it appears to be a legacy of Scottish and Irish immigrants. In Scotland it's Whisky and in Ireland it's Whiskey.  
> 4\. The Hudson Bay Company - the oldest company in North America, it started off with the beaver-fur trade. Today HBC is large department store chain. The bit about them opening 20 stores in 24 months in the Netherlands is true. I was reading random things on the internet while looking for inspiration to write this :P It gave me an excuse to bring Matthew over.  
> 5\. Rabobank - a Dutch cooperative bank that specializes in farming and primary industry.  
> 6\. Obviously a lot of other things I just made up with artistic license :P
> 
> Hi, thanks for reading my fic, hope that you enjoyed it! It really wasn't mean to be this long, but...yeah...
> 
> This fic came out of an effort to write shorter fics and put a little more NedCan out there. The title 'Is this the place you like to hide at?' was actually the prompt that won the vote on my Tumblr. If you're interested in voting for new prompts and read what will hopefully be NedCan drabbles, the blog is at <http://nedcanquen.tumblr.com>.


End file.
